Home Sweet Home (1-4)
by Kim The Manipaltive Little Mo
Summary: REWRITTEN Yes I did it all over again. Three years after the movie, Clarice is the one on the run. Please read and review.


Ok everyone,

This is my newly revamped "Home Sweet Home." I don't own any of the chars, they belong to Thomas Harris. I don't make anymore so like don't sue. Anyway please review it. I need reviews to know if I should go on with it.

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Chapter One

  
  


The dream haunted her once again and she turned hearing those fearful things over and over again. Still the same, it was always the same. The smell of the pigs, HIS voice, Mason Verger flying into the pit, "Not in a thousand years," the lambs screaming. Yes that was always it, "Not in a thousand years" and that terrible screaming off the lambs. 

  
  


Clarice bolted awake, her whole body covered in the cold sweat that nightmares bring. A low sob was given deep in her throat as her head was buried in her hands. The two huge pitbulls woke up as well, hearing their Mistress's distress and low growls were tossed into the shadows. She still shook as she always did. Three years of this living nightmare, three years of becoming no body.

  
  


She felt her way to the bathroom and tossed two Atavan into her sweat-slicked palm. Her other hand reached for the nearly empty vodka bottle tucked under the sink. The pills were placed quickly into her dry mouth and a large chug of that vodka was taken washing them down. She pulled her knees to her chest and tucked her arms around her as she sat on that cold bathroom floor. The slow back and forth rocking started again as she waited for the pills to start their work. "Yes," She told herself, "You are so damn pathetic. Clarice M Starling, slayer of monsters, haunted by little old nightmares that make her quake with fear and run away."

  
  


The dreams, how she hated them and what they made her do. The short necked bottle was placed over her dried, chapped lips and she closed her eyes as the burning swept down her long slender throat on that familiar voyage. The dreams were normal they had told her, the dreams were healthy, a way to cope as part of her PTSD. Yes the lovely hell that Mason and Hannibal had placed her in, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder another scar she got from trying to help.

  
  


So the FBI kicked her off. What had she expected really? They didn't want a shell-shocked girl who had gotten Hannibal Lecter free. They didn't say any of that of course but she knew. No, the called it Medical Leave and got the Verger family to give her a nice fat check.

  
  


Yes, Mason-the sick- fuck Verger, had paid for the well trained killing machines who slept on her bed, paid for the ten foot electric fence that protected her little cabin from the big bad monster who wanted to get in. Hole-in-the-Ass, West Virginia town of 200 coal miners who protected their own from strangers who tried to hurt them. Hannibal the Cannibal would never find her here.

  
  


But none of that seemed to help on the nights like this, when she could almost feel the bullet tearing through her shoulder, feel his lips on her's. A low cry was sounded once again as she reached for the bottle to wipe that pain away. It was empty of course, the poison never seemed to last to long in this house. Her fingers were trailed over the scar on her shoulder as she padded slowly into the kitchen. Trembling fingers opened the door to the freezer and she pulled out another bottle.

  
  


Automatically she reached into the cupboard and pulled out the first glass she could find. A low smile crinkled over un-used lips as she saw the small Disney characters dancing their way into happy ever after. Beauty and the Beast. The smile froze on her lips as she remember the damned headlines in that piece of trash paper, "Beauty and the Beast she saved from the Pigs, (both real and the blue kind)"

  
  


Her hand smashed onto the counter and the glass was dropped to land in the crowded sink. She grabbed the nearest coffee cup and opened the door to her deck. A small sigh was given as the blue shimmered with the first sign of dawn. The chilled fire once again slid down into her empty stomach as she awaited the dawn, something she had done every morning for three years. Her eyes always searched for him, praying that he would never ever come back, yet some deep down part of her wanted him too. Three years of waiting was a long time.

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Chapter Two

  
  


Three years of waiting was a long time. Hannibal Lecter carefully he wrapped the bandage around the totally unmarked hand. He wanted them to believe that he still had his hand removed. It really was a blessing that he had drugged Clarice as the knife started it's grand sweep down to the handcuffs chain. Hannibal Lecter was no fool. He had prepared for anything and the give liters of blood that he had siphoned off himself over a matter of months had come in very handy. 

  
  


The money and passport waited in the envelope under his bandaged hand. Today he was returning to the U. S. he had things to take care of. The humvy pulled into the heavily guarded gate and he rose carefully to his feet, his new hand resting on the lovely rosewood cane. He put a hundred down on the table as he placed his new papers in his pocket. There really was no cause for worry, the face-lift and nose job made him almost indictable and his old mannerisms had been all but drilled out of him.

  
  


His hat was adjusted as they pulled into the runaway, deep in the jungle. The plane was waiting and he boarded it quickly, with no sign of hesitation. There was the familiar feeling in his stomach as they took off and headed towards Miami. The waters they flew over were a deep rich blue that reminded him of Clarice's eyes. 

  
  


Slow, steady fingers were placed into his attache case and he pulled out the supply of good writing paper he kept there. The charcoal was touched slowly to his lush lips as he looked out the window, lost in thought. Crimson pinpoints preformed the odd dance as the pencil was touched to paper. Shadows gave way to form as she appeared before him, her eye's like that of a doe. He knew she had gone away but he would find her were ever she went aground. 

  
  


He always did.

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Chapter Three

  
  


Another dream, deep crimson blood leading a trail from the house. She blinked serval times and swallowed, trying to get the off taste from her mouth. Somewhere in the distance she heard a boat being pushed away from the docks. She whimpered as she stood up and leaned on the counter. Her feet in there Gucci shoes slid on the crimson as walked out side and saw the boat movie away. Somewhere a phone was ringing...

  
  


Clarice stirred in her sleep, her hand pressed over her eyes to ford off the bright sunlight that peeked behind the dark blinds. Somewhere a phone was ringing. Yeah, it was. Right next to her. She groaned loudly and sat up, fingers bungling as she reached for the black receiver. Her voice was a low growl. "Someone had better be fucking dead."

  
  
  
  


Jack Crawford blinked. Starling had never been that gruff before. Perhaps he shouldn't have called, he'd been told not to. He'd lied and said he didn't know where she was. He didn't want to cause her anymore pain. This all was his fault already. He had used her and he knew it, thirteen years ago went he sent her down into the dudgeon. He swallowed, she had been like a kid to him and he had killed her spirt. 

  
  


He steeled himself. Hannibal Lecter had killed her spirt, Paul Krendlar had killed her spirt, not him. He swallowed and spoke, "Starling, I have some bad news."

  
  


She bolted, trembles roaming through her body. The name Starling seemed detached from her somehow. She never thought about her Father anymore. And she couldn't hear his voice if she tried. She couldn't even try anymore. Any time she did she would only find a pit of pigs and a trail of blood leading out into the night. Her voice was very soft as she cast a look around the room. "Please leave me alone, Mr. Crawford."

  
  


And with that her hand was shaking so badly she had to drop the receiver onto the phone to hand it up. Arms were pulled to her chest as she started rocking back and forth. Clarice whimpered as she rocked. Crawford's voice sent her mind into a tail spin. All she could see was him asking her to go see Hannibal. Very softly she started to repeat the words that he spoke, as she was once again sitting in the office; even if it was only in her head.

  
  


_"Do you spook easy, Starling?"_

  
  


_"Not yet."_

  
  


_"Be very careful with Hannibal Lecter. If Lecter talks to you at all, he'll just be trying to find out about you. It's the kind of curiosity that makes a snake look in a nest. ... tell him no specifics about yourself. Believe me you don't want Hannibal Lecter inside your head."_

  
  


You don't want Hannibal Lecter inside your head. You don't want Hannibal Lecter inside your head. He's a monster. The phone rang again and rang. She let it ring until the machine picked it up. "Clarice, listen to me. You need to go what's been going on." 

  
  


"Fuck going on and fuck you!" She said, as she pulled the phone cord from the wall. Arms were pressed to her ears as that rocking continued. Somewhere one of the other phones started to ring. She jumped out of bed and slammed the door behind her. She really didn't want to know. She couldn't handle knowing. Fuck knowing. As she reached under her bed and pulled out the bottle, she decided that later on she would change her number and give it to no one.

  
  


Clarice Starling was dead. She had died that day in a barn. She was killed by a war between two fucking psychos. Here she lies, rest in peace. Clarice Starling was dead. In her place rose Nell Stevens. No one knew who she was.

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Chapter Four.

  
  


Clarice Starling was dead. That was the sad decision he reached as the phone just rang. Very slowly he placed the headset back onto his desk. In his mind he added Clarice's name to the victim file in his head. Hannibal Lecter had killed her. She didn't want to go back on the Hannibal case. He should have stopped Krendlar. He should have saved her from that doomed raid. Clarice had been doing her job. 

  
  


The job that he had charged her with doing. Again he returned to the file he had on her. The file that only was open to top eyes in the tower. Carefully he flipped through it again, seeing his hand written notes on her performance. He allowed himself a smile as he saw her graduation pictures and read about her firearm triumphs. 

  
  


And then he came to the classified section. The segment that started with the fish market. The official findings that no one would ever see. Mason Verger had set up the fucking raid. He had tipped that bitch off. So making Clarice a monster in the eyes of the press, so showing a limp to the lion who was hunting her from afar.

  
  


And Mason Verger had interceded so she didn't lose her job, but it wasn't because he felt badly. It was because he needed to make that limp all the worse. She had done her job, she had found him. She had gone there and stopped one madman only to be kidnaped by the other. Jack Crawford's fist struck the table. For her 10 years of service she had been made a piece of bait, an unwitting pawn in a game of chess between to masters.

  
  


Again he turned the page. Clarice's statement of what happened. He merely skimmed over it, he had been there when it had been taken. Jack sat back and closed his eyes, seeing her wake up from the fainting she had taken, seeing her pick up the knife and using it's flat end to pry the door to the refrigerator open. He could see her falling in the puddle of blood. He remember that smear of blood covering the gunpowder on her face like some sort of ironic brand.

  
  


Jack sighed softly and pulled out a Tums, grinding it between his teeth as he opened to the DNA test results. The blood was Hannibal's and being as he lost that much, he was probably dead. There was more blood in the boat and smears on the road where he came ashore. After that, there was no more word from him. He was removed from the wanted list and Clarice's office in the basement had been closed up.

  
  


Every instinct in his gut told him that Lecter was still alive. And that Lecter was now the one hunting the former huntress herself. He came to the last piece of paper. The only thing listed on it was a series of numbers. Her phone number mixed with her new social security number. Only three people knew what it was and as far as he was concerned it was too many. 

  
  


This new development, he couldn't prove it was him but he knew. The girl who had been killed in Washington could have been Starling's twin. He knew she didn't watch the news but she should know. Her tongue and heart had been removed. That was last week. Two weeks ago there had been another murder in Tennessee. She also looked like Starling with the same MO. He knew that Hannibal Lecter was stalking this Clarice look alikes. He had to warn her before it was too late.

  
  


Slowly he picked up the phone and dialed again. He had to find her and see her face to face. "I'd like to rent a car please. ... Where am I going?.... West Virginia. .... I'd like to leave tonight.... No don't put it on the company card. Put it on mine. ... A white pickup truck... Six it is then, and Betsy, make sure they know it's for my vacation. No one is to know where I am going."

  
  


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Chapter Five

  
  


Hannibal gave a slow smile as he listed to Jack's secretary fill out the order from the car. Yes, it was a little risky to be there in his nemesis's office but it didn't matter. All anyone would see when they looked at him was a middle aged man with ordinary brown eyes and gray hair.Above his chin was a small gray mustache, his skin was more olive and his frame was more muscular then it had been five years ago. He stood up slowly and almost grimaced in distaste at was he was going to have to do next.

  
  


In a rather rude tone of voice he said, with a throaty New York accent. "Look lady, I ain't gor time to wait around fer yer boss to get off his ass. Tell hem if he wants ta talk to me, he can call the office in the City, 15th precinct. If he don't know nothing, fahgettaboutit." 

  
  


And with that he walked out the door and slammed it behind him. The guest credentials were thrown into a nearby wastepaper basket as he walked out the building and into the chilled Washington air. Being as Jack was so close to retirement that had thrown him a bone and given him a real office. He hailed a taxi and in his normal tone he spoke softly, "To the Ritz-Carleton please, and quickly if you would."

  
  


As the great monuments to past leaders roared by, Hannibal thought about the girl whom he sought. Was there something wrong that he didn't know about? Had something happened to her? He sighed softly as he exited the vehicle. Carefully he pulled out his mobile phone and called the same car rental place. After he made the arrangements he called the private detective he had hired to find her.

  
  


His hand covered his mouth and removed the thin mustache. He had enough time to pack and check out before he started to follow the man who would lead him towards his little high roller. 

  
  


At five after six, Jack Crawford roared out of the rental place's parking lot. Hannibal smiled as he eased his own car onto the road behind him. As Jack pulled into a nearby McDonald's, Hannibal snorted and pulled into the liquor store next store. He knew it well. Keeping an eye on the time he went in a purchased a five hundred dollar bottle of wine to enjoy with Clarice. Perhaps he would even cook her some of her mentor before he was through.

  
  


Somewhere past Midnight they drove past the sign that said, "Entering West Virginia." Hannibal smiled as he looked at the mountains all around him. Yes, she was here, he could feel it. Very soon he would find her. Nothing could stop him now.

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End file.
